


But Only Say The Word

by bemusedlybespectacled (ardentintoxication)



Series: The Continuing Adventures of Kink N00b Matt Murdock [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, BDSM, Community: daredevilkink, Dirty Talk, F/M, Femdom, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Masochism, Non-Sexual Submission, Praise Kink, Switching, in which I continue to write anti-50 Shades porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentintoxication/pseuds/bemusedlybespectacled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Matt Murdock did not play at the dungeon, and one time he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Only Say The Word

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=202709#cmt202709) at the kink meme, and also _all ya'll_ who wanted more of my OFC. THIS IS WHAT YOU HATH WROUGHT!

"Well, look who came back," she says. "I was beginning to worry."

"Finals," he says. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, we just weren't properly introduced last time." It's an obvious cue.

"Matt."

"Verena! Scene name, not my real one. Also - you'll probably appreciate this - my confirmation name."

"I was just Matthew," Matt says. "Uninspired, I know." He feels suddenly, terribly awkward. "Uh, are you...?"

She winces. "Actually, I'm just leaving. Papers to write. But, gimme your number and I'll text you when I'm here. Or call, whichever."

"Oh," Matt says. "Okay."

He feels awkward afterwards, not knowing anyone. He goes home.

* * *

"So here's a question," Rena asks him. "Do you think you're submissive, or just a masochist?" She's getting a back massage from a friendly Fordham MBA named Amrish while her boyfriend, Teddy, kneels at her feet. "Not that you can't be a dominant masochist, or whatever, I'm just wondering. Given that you seem to like being bossed around while you're getting smacked."

"I don't know. I get stressed out," Matt says. "The pain helps me disconnect from that."

"Okay." She's thinking. Matt hears her left shoulder pop unexpectedly under Amrish's hands. "Ooh, _thank_ you, that did it."

"Should I stop or keep going?" Amrish asks.

"Keep going, please."

"Maybe I could try it?" Matt suggests quietly. "Being bossed around?"

She's excited - her heartbeat betrays her. "Okay. Uh, I'm holding a hand out."

He takes it, lets her guide him to the floor opposite Teddy. "You just want me to sit here?"

"Yup."

"This is bossing?"

"Being in charge means I do what makes me happy." She lets his head rest on her knee, sinking long fingers into his hair. "You want to be good for me?"

"Yes," he says reflexively. Her hand stills for a moment.

"Okay," she says. "Good."

* * *

"You missed all the fuuuuuun," she says when he arrives. Her voice is coming from a spot on the floor; his cane brushes up against a tangle of legs.

"You sound stoned," Matt says. "What exactly did I miss?"

She giggles. "Naaaaaah. Never done drugs, never will. Unless they're legalized in New York, then maybe I'll try, like, _one_ pot brownie. No, what you missed was this gorgeous _,_ wonderful woman beating the shit out of me for an _hour_." Fabric rustles: her arm is extricated from the blanket so that she can gesture between Matt and the woman sitting on the floor next to her. "Rosie, Matt. Matt, Rosie."

"I'm not gorgeous," Rosie says. "And I had help, remember."

"Right, right: getting the shit beaten out of me by _this gorgeous, wonderful woman_ and Teddy." She pats her boyfriend's arm. "Sorry, babe."

"No one appreciates me!" he laments. "I work so hard to beat you the way you like, and what do I get?"

"Orgasms when we get home?"

"Okay, that's probably acceptable," he says. They kiss, little pecks that are more noise than contact.

"I thought Teddy was your sub," Matt says, confused.

"He is," she says. "Which means he does what I want him to, which includes topping me." She makes a pleased groan in the back of her throat as she stretches. "And also carrying me to the aftercare room." She giggles as he lifts her in his arms, blanket and all.

"I'll be back in maybe half an hour?" she says. "Unless you'd like to join us. It's just a lot of sitting quietly and occasionally bringing me snacks. And I get to admire my bruises."

"What do they look like?" Matt asks, grinning.

" _So_ pretty, you don't even know. There's this one on my boob..."

* * *

"Oh, great," Rena mutters darkly. "Fantastic."

"What's happening?" asks Matt, holding on to her elbow.

"Someone I hoped not to see today. Hold on." She guides him out of the dungeon and into the hallway, then slides down the wall to sit on the floor. Teddy, on her right, joins her, and with some maneuvering, Matt does, too. The shut door does little to hide the activities of the room from him - he can still hear people shrieking with pain and delight, smell the sharp tang of blood from someone doing needleplay.

"Okay," she says. "Keep this on the down low, okay? I don't want it to be said that I've been gossiping."

"Sure," Matt says.

"So there's this guy. 'Lord Spartan.' Total. Creep." He can hear her running her hair through her hands, the thick strands rustling as she cards them through her fingers. "Like, not in an obvious way. He's always just skirting the lines for what the dungeon monitors would think unacceptable. He won't touch you without your consent, but he'll kind of touch the air around you. Or he'll drop trou in front of you as a 'joke.'"

"He came on to her the first time we came here," Teddy adds quietly. "He likes playing with newbies."

"He also doesn't wash his hair," she says. "I know it's petty, but it's true. Or even if he does, he uses way too much gel for a fifty-year-old with clown hair. One of the two."

"He was here the first time I came here," Matt says, remembering. "Wasn't he?"

She nods. "Yeah, actually. How did you know?"

Matt shrugs. "Smelled the hair when he walked past me," he lies. There's no use trying to explain to them that he can pick out a single scent in an entire room.

"Then you'll know who he is. Kind of a deeper voice, likes playing with people who don't know that it's okay to safeword, might try to pick you out because..." He doesn't know if she means to finish that sentence with _new_ or _blind_.

"Do you want to go home?" Teddy asks her.

"Maybe." She turns to Matt. "You going to be okay here by yourself?"

More coddling. He doesn't want it: he doesn't need it. "I'll be fine," he lies again.

"Okay, then I'm going." She stands and then helps him up. "Just be careful around him, okay?"

* * *

He just has a cold. That's all it is. He's a little sniffly, and he's got a bit of a headache, but that's not a big deal. Right now, what he needs is to go down, to let go of himself for a while. He's been pulling all-nighters for a week, but this is a different, more relaxing kind of work. He's just going to go for an hour or two. It's going to be fine.

"Do you think you could use the paddle again?" he asks as she guides him to the birching bench. "The flogger isn't really heavy enough for me right now."

"Buy me a nicer one with all your lawyer money and we'll see how heavy it can be! But sure," she says. "The paddle is fine."

She lets him position himself on the bench: he's leaning forward and down, which ordinarily is his favorite position, but now makes his stomach roil with nausea. Without meaning to, he makes a noise. On her knees in front of him, she says, "Dude, I haven't even touched you yet."

"No," Matt says, trying to laugh it off. "Just excited."

"Hmmm." She goes quiet, and even though she's still fiddling with the rope around his hands, Matt knows she's looking at him. "Are you-" She presses the back of her hand to his cheek, his forehead. It feels nice. "I'm sure it does," she says, and Matt realizes that he said that aloud. "You have a fever."

"I'm fine," he says. "It's just a cold."

"Colds don't make you nauseous," she points out, "and you look like you are."

"I'm fine," he repeats.

"Saying it twice doesn't make it more convincing," she says, and drops the ropes entirely. "Go put your clothes on."

"But-"

"I said, _go put your clothes on_." The rope makes a slithering noise as she coils it, fading as she walks away from him. He can hear her talking to Teddy, but nothing distinct. It's hard for him to focus just now. He puts on his pants, then his T-shirt. He's putting on his sweatshirt when Rena comes back with Teddy.

"Either you're getting in a cab or we're driving you home," she says. Her tone brooks no argument and offers no alternatives. "Where do you live?"

"Lenfest," Matt says. "But-"

"No buts. I'm not hitting you if you're sick." She starts stuffing equipment into her duffle bag, the different instruments rattling against each other. "If I leave and you stay, you'll just find someone who doesn't have my reservations. And besides, I like making people tea." She doesn't quite stomp off, but her tread is heavier.

"I don't need someone to make me tea," Matt says under his breath to Teddy, taking his offered arm.

"She's going to do it whether you like it or not," Teddy whispers back. "You should see her when _I_ get sick."

Foggy teases him about the girl who dropped him off ("She's definitely taken!" Matt protests) for days.

* * *

"Eighty dollars!" she moans, shaking the large cardboard box so that the contents rattle inside. "Eighty dollars plus shipping and handling. What was I thinking?"

"It's your birthday," Teddy reminds her. "You're allowed to treat yourself."

" _Eighty. Dollars_."

"What is?" Matt asks.

There's a snick sound as she pulls out a pocket knife and slices open the packing tape. "Tire tread slapper, made from real tires!" She rummages through the box and pulls out its contents, letting it fall to the floor. "Oh, it's so pretty!"

"Can I-?" Matt asks, holding out his hand.

"Sure," she says. It's heavy, maybe as heavy as a paddle, and unwieldy. The handle is smooth, cold metal, and the business end is a good fifteen inches long.

"Oh, I like this," Matt says, and laughs when she snatches it out of his hands.

"My present! Mine!" She picks up the cardboard box and hands it to Teddy. "Babe, could you find a trash can to put this in? I have plans for this lovely thing involving Matt." A pause. "That is, if Matt's interested in getting spanked today."

"God, yes," he says.

"Great!" She leads him to their usual quiet corner, lets him take his clothes off while she admires the slapper more. "Kneel down for me?" He treats it like an order, sinking to his knees and turning his face toward hers expectantly.

"Okay. I haven't used this before, so you have to tell me if I fuck up with it. Especially if it wraps on you. Uh, usual safewords, usual aftercare, is there anything I'm forgetting? Or anything you want other than for me to smack you with this?"

"Could you maybe smack me across the face again?" Matt asks. "I really like it when you do that."

"Sure thing."

"And..." Matt hesitates a moment before asking. This isn't something they've tried before. "Boss me around. But in a nice way?"

She makes a wet noise sucking on her lower lip. "Be more specific."

"Tell me I'm doing well?"

"Oh," she says, comprehension dawning. "You want me to praise you?"

"Yeah."

She puts a hand on his shoulder. "You want me to tell you how good you are? How pretty you look when I hit you?"

"Yes." Her hand moves up his neck to his face, and he leans into it.

"Do you want me to hit you?"

"Yes."

"Ask me nicely."

"Please," Matt says. "Please hit me."

He registers the sound of her hand moving a split second before it strikes. She smacks him back and forth a couple of times, getting a feel for it.

"That feel good?" she asks. He nods. For someone with such small hands, she knows exactly how to hurt him. "Excellent." She smacks him again.

"You look so pretty like this," she says casually, punctuating each sentence with a slap. "You're just so eager to do whatever I want you to." Her nails, a bit overlong, catch his cheek and he hisses. "Oh, fuck," she says. "Sorry, sorry."

"No, it's fine-"

"Got carried away, should have been paying attention," she says. "You want to move on to the slapper?" She picks it up from the floor and smacks it once against her hand. Matt nods vigorously, but is stopped by her holding the slapper, folded in half, under his chin. "Nicely," she reminds him.

"Please hit me?"

"Where do you want me to hit you?" she asks, tapping the slapper ever-so-lightly against his face.

"My ass, please," Matt says, feeling blood rush to his already-redded cheeks.

"Then bend over," she says. He falls forward, resting his head in his arms. "Oh, that's perfect. You're perfect." The slapper whistles through the air and cracks against his ass.

"Thank you," he says, unsure if he's thanking her for the compliment or the blow.

"Aw, you're thanking me already? Cute." Crack.

"Polite thing to do," Matt says, panting.

"Catholic schoolboy."

"You say it - _ah!_ \- like it's a bad thing."

"Not when it turns out such good little masochists like you," she says. Her breath is coming a bit short, her heart racing, from the sheer exhilaration of it. He can smell her just starting to sweat, hear the swing of her hair against her shirt.

"You're going to look so nice later," she says, hitting him again. "Your ass is going to be bruised for a week." Crack. "You won't be able to sit down without thinking about this, will you?"

"No," Matt says. It's like she's cracked open his brain and poured over every secret. It's terrifying.

"You'd just stay here and take it if I asked you to, wouldn't you?" Crack. "I could beat your ass bloody and you'd still beg me for more." Crack.

"Yes," Matt says. He trusts her, he realizes. She won't turn this against him.

"Do it."

"Please," Matt says. She rewards him with another slap to the back of his legs. "Oh God, please, please." It's a mantra rather than a request. She smacks him harder, then harder, raining blows to his ass and thighs until he's shuddering with the effort of keeping himself up, pain dissolving into euphoria, awareness shrinking to a quiet, steady calm.

"Okay," she says eventually, startling him. "Stopping now."

He doesn't move from position until she tells him to, wrapping him in the blanket again and guiding his head to her lap. "You were so good," she murmurs. "Best birthday _ever_."

Matt smiles faintly, exhaustion creeping into his muscles the way it usually does after a scene. "I mean it," she says. "You made me really happy. You did everything I wanted." Her hand finds its way to his hair. "That's a lot."

He doesn't quite fall asleep, but he does lie quietly for a few minutes before trying to get up. He manages to rise to his elbows before she holds him back. "Nuh-uh," she says. "Aftercare."

"Always taking care of me," he mumbles. "Don't need it."

"Maybe you don't," she says, "but I do."

**Author's Note:**

>   * One day I will own [this fine specimen](http://www.stockroom.com/Tire-Tread-Slapper-P3217.aspx), but not today.
>   * Some people have multiple play partners. Some people only play with a single person. It depends on the dynamics of their relationship.
>   * I did an inordinate amount of research for how student housing works at Columbia. Lenfest is one of the two dorms dedicated solely to law students.
>   * I had to cut a lot to make an even wordcount, so I'm tempted to do DVD commentary for these fics: ask me questions in the comments or hit up [my tumblr](http://bemusedlybespectacled.tumblr.com) for more. ~follow for more soft femdom~ 
> 



End file.
